Free Ghost Sword by Jonathan Moeller Page B

Why hadn’t the slaves or the freedmen noticed her? Many of them had been in service to House Kardamnos since the time of Kylon’s father, had known Andromache well. 
    He stepped through the main doors and into the great hall of the Tower of Kardamnos, where the High Seat of the House entertained guests and conducted public business. A long, low table ran the length of the hall, and banners from ancient wars hung from the ceiling. The hall was deserted, and yet…
    Kylon felt something strange against his arcane senses, something peculiar. A spell, perhaps, one recently broken? It reminded him a little of the earth elemental he had battled below the walls of Caer Magia a year past, yet this sensation was somehow worse. The earth elemental, for all its power, had been a spirit indifferent to mortal men, and would have not taken any notice of them had it not been bound by a sorcerer. This aura felt…
    Hostile. Malignant, even. 
    A spot of crimson caught his eye.
    There was a small guardroom near the doors, where slaves and bodyguards could wait while their masters feasted. The door was closed, and a spreading crimson pool leaked from beneath it.
    Kylon cursed, strode across the room, and yanked the door open. 
    Inside the guardroom stood a wooden table and a pair of benches. The headless corpse of a woman in a slave’s tunic slumped over the table. To judge from the crimson spatters across the wall, she had been beheaded with a single powerful blow. Her head sat next to her body, eyes open with shock, her black hair trailing into the pool of blood. 
    He recognized her. She was one of the slaves of his half-brother Ramphias, one of the oldest and most accomplished of his father’s bastards. He had fought with distinction in the war, destroying several Imperial warships, and had more than once mentioned that he thought himself the rightful heir of House Kardamnos, not Kylon.
    And now one of his slaves had been murdered on Kylon’s roof. 
    He cursed and called for the guards.
     
    ###
     
    Several hours later Kylon stood in the great hall, Thalastre at his side, and faced his half-brother. 
    Or, more precisely, two of them. 
    Ramphias was in his middle thirties, tall and strong with a face seamed like leather. At the start of the war, he had captained a trireme, and by the end of the fighting he had risen to thalarchon of the ninth fleet. He wore the traditional robes of a Kyracian nobleman, sword and dagger at his belt. His younger brother Xenarro waited with him. Both had been born to the same mother, a minor noblewoman of Anshan, and both men had the same dark eyes, prominent noses, and jutting chins. Xenarro had followed his brother’s rise, and now captained the ninth fleet’s flagship. 
    “This is an outrage, Kylon,” spat Ramphias. “An utter and unforgiveable outrage.”
    His emotions pulsed against Kylon’s senses, brittle with rage. Xenarro felt much calmer, almost placid. Peculiar, that. But perhaps Xenarro simply did not care. 
    “You will address my husband,” said Thalastre with icy calm, “as the Lord High Seat of House Kardamnos.” 
    Behind them the slaves labored, cleaning the blood of the murdered woman. 
    Ramphias scowled. “Do you need women to speak in your defense, Kylon? Does the mighty Kylon Shipbreaker huddle behind the skirts of his wife and wait for her to save him?” Xenarro laughed.
    Thalastre smiled. “Certainly not. But it would be beneath the dignity of the Lord High Seat of House Kardamnos to address himself to the bastard spawn of a foreign concubine.”
    Ramphias’s scowl darkened.
    “If you insult my wife,” said Kylon, “I will challenge you, here and now, before these witnesses.” Ramphias opened his mouth. “Remember that Andromache killed men for far less. Apologize.”
    “Forgive me, Lady Thalastre,” said Ramphias, though he looked just short of murder. “My temper has gotten the better of me.”
    “Think nothing of it,” said Thalastre airily.